


The Road to Hell

by Rowaine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 15:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3615741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowaine/pseuds/Rowaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the final battle, Severus must deal with memories and Albus' condition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road to Hell

TITLE: The Road to Hell (is paved with cocktails and hangovers)  
  
AUTHOR: Rowaine  
  
PAIRING: SS/HP  
  
RATING: Soft R  
  
DISCLAIMER: The following has been brought to you by JKR and her associates. Any similarities to actual characters in literary works are purely for entertainment value. Not intended for resale to minors.  
  
SUMMARY: After the final battle, Severus must deal with memories and Albus' condition.  
  
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest -- Three word challenge. Words submitted by Mary Rose Chaos: damascene, necrobiosis, wassail.  
  
Written pre-OoTP  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Christmas at Hogwarts.  
  
The final battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters was just days ago.  
  
Most of the wounded had already been released, but Severus couldn't bring himself to leave the Infirmary, halfway listening to Poppy going on about Albus' state. Several members of the Ministry had come in to ask about his health. "... between the numerous curses he absorbed in the last crossfire, and his body's natural state of necrobiosis, I'm afraid we cannot permit him to resume his duties as headmaster. The man needs genuine rest now, free from responsibility and stress."  
  
Blocking out the mediwitch's explanations to the Ministry drones, Severus allowed his mind to wander off, back to his childhood home.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
The elegant gothic gables of his father's large manor. The curving and twisting lattices covered in ivy. The large oak doors inlayed with damascene plates, showing intricate designs of serpents and ravens -- practically all the members of the Snape family throughout the centuries had been members of either Slytherin or Ravenclaw. The carefully plotted stone walkway, cobbled in mosaics of marble and granite. The family room where they would gather each Saturday, ignoring the intrusions of the world, to read or talk quietly together.  
  
A seldom-felt melancholy coursed through him, forcing a stop to his memories. The present was harsh enough without having to live through yet another bout of guilt and remorse. Every member of his already small family was dead, murdered by either Voldemort or by Aurors. Those that chose not to follow the Dark Lord were killed for their forbearance, while those that readily received the Mark eventually came to face the Ministry's hit squad.  
  
Another wave of grief. Another year of depression. The last living person who could possibly hold a place in his heart was near death, and there was nothing Severus could do to prevent it. Except to accept Albus' wishes, and take over the headmaster position. Minerva was acting in his stead for the time being, but he knew that she would retire when Albus did.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
From the halls outside the Infirmary came the rambunctious sounds of celebration, full of laughter and merriment to rival any previous Yule gathering. Revelers toasted each other with spiked punch and having a wassail, thrilled at the freedom and relief that comes only after a long oppression has been lifted.  
  
Yet not even Voldemort's (very permanent) demise could raise his spirits. Fighting a fresh surge of depression, Severus stood on shaky legs to walk the length of the corridor right outside the Infirmary.  
  
As his progress brought him to the final turn before the stairs, he saw a huddled form in the shadows. Someone who heard his approach, stiffening shoulders and hastily wiping away tears.  
  
His silent movements would have been heard by very few people -- Albus (of course), the werewolf, most animagi, and Potter. The boy had gotten almost as good at stealth over the past year. Knowing where the other suspects were, this could only be the Boy Who Lived. He felt it odd that Potter would be in such a state, since his duties were over with the Dark Lord's demise.  
  
Making a quick decision, Severus dropped to the floor beside his student. "And what may I ask is the matter with you, Mr. Potter? Have the masses decided that you aren't front page news anymore?"  
  
Breath catching in his throat, Harry glanced sideways at the speaker. "I wouldn't know, sir! I've yet to leave the castle... They... they'll ask too many questions."  
  
"And you are shying from the limelight? Seems quite out of character for you," sneered Snape, purely out of habit.  
  
A bark of laughter, no humor behind the sound. "Hardly. You've been wrong all these years about that, sir!. I never wanted the attention, or the special treatment. And now, it's about all I've got left."  
  
"What on earth are you referring to? Once again, you've saved the wizarding world from Voldemort, and lived to tell the tale." Looking perplexed, Severus examined the young hero.  
  
"At too high a cost! The only family I had left is dead now, and my closest friends as well. I'd happily see the Dark Lord's return to have them back again."  
  
"Oh do stop being so dramatic, Potter. Are you quite sure you've checked everywhere for your friends and the mutt? People are still drifting in from the battle." He had not been aware of the boy's missing classmates. Spending all his time at Albus' side had immured him from the daily count of dead or unaccountable persons.  
  
"Yes, Professor, I'm quite sure. I was standing right there... and I couldn't prevent it. Couldn't move fast enough. All my fault, again."  
  
Thinking back to his own mass of guilt, Snape recognized the poison settling into his student's soul. He knew it would ruin his reputation forever for this young man, but... it was the least he could do. Speaking from the heart, as he rarely allowed himself to do, the stern professor placed a gentle hand on the young man's arm. "Mr. Potter. Harry. Please listen to me. Your godfather, your friends, even your parents, they all knew the dangers they faced by going against Voldemort, by joining either side. You cannot hold yourself responsible for their deaths."  
  
"If I had let Sirius kill Wormtail... "  
  
"NO! Stop it, right now, Harry. You're going to end up bitter, repressed, and hateful. Twenty years from now, do you want to be like ... me?"  
  
"You'll need to break my nose for the full effect, sir." Harry sniggered softly, the sound ending in a slight sob.  
  
"Impertinent child." A pause, while Severus studied the sorrowful green eyes. "But at least you can make jokes still. Albeit a foul attempt, but it proves your sense of humor isn't yet buried."  
  
"What does that matter? They've already been buried. I should be there beside them."  
  
"Don't ever speak like that, you ungrateful whelp! You are not the cause of their deaths, and you cheapen their sacrifices by wishing for an end to your own life. If you are determined to be miserable, kindly refrain from such stupidity."  
  
"Sorry, sir!. I'll just leave you to your stalking, shall I?"  
  
"You will do no such thing. Follow me, Mr. Potter." Standing up, Severus brushed off his robes and headed down the stairs, expecting Harry's compliance.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
He couldn't figure out what Snape was up to, but years of the student- teacher relationship had trained him to follow (at least most) orders given by the taciturn instructor. Jogging to catch up to those long strides, Harry walked beside the Potions Master, recognizing one of the less often used back ways into the dungeons.  
  
During the first years of his tuition at Hogwarts, Harry dreaded every meeting with his potions professor. The cold, forbidding nature of the man unnerved him. And the Gryffindor was quite certain that Snape could spot out his lies, divine his plans, or even read his mind.  
  
Only after the hated TriWizard Tournament did his preconceptions of Professor Snape alter. A spy? He worked for the Order? That knowledge rattled the Boy Who Lived, and he found himself in a state of flux about the 'slimy git'. Many days Harry could avoid thinking about the man altogether -- exams, Quidditch practice, extra classes in Defense. And yet... the smoothly predatorial nature of the Potions Master drew his attention back to every student's nightmare.  
  
Snape-watching became his second favorite sport.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
"Where are we going, sir?"  
  
"You are hardly so lacking in intelligence that you cannot figure out where we are."  
  
"Fine, we're heading for the dungeons. Why?"  
  
"Ten minutes of silence would be too much to ask, wouldn't it."  
  
"From me, probably. If I stay quiet for that long, will you answer my questions?"  
  
"If you'll shut up for that long, you'll have your answer."  
  
A half-hearted snort was the only response.  
  
And Harry did get his answer, although not in the manner he'd expected. Ten minutes later, both men stood outside a large framed doorway, heavily inlaid with metalwork. Severus had specifically chosen this pattern to remind him of his childhood home.  
  
"My private chambers, Mr. Potter. Please do not expect to ever be invited here again." Before he dared think too hard on his motives for the... offer of camaraderie... Snape removed his outer robe, looking back to the young man standing awkwardly in his chambers. "Today, however, we shall toast the dead and put them to rest in our own way."  
  
Glancing to his nervous young companion, Snape felt obliged to ask, "How much tolerance do you have for alcoholic beverages?"  
  
"Well, I can put away a lot of butterbeer, and the twins used to spike the punch with Fire Whiskey pretty often, but I doubt I can handle much more than a couple of shots without something to soften the blow."  
  
"Very well, we shall begin with something a bit less volatile. Have a seat please, and I will return shortly."  
  
Harry looked around the sitting room before finding a comfortable place to settle. Wall-to-wall bookshelves occupied every inch of the room, excluding doorways and the fireplace, which was roaring gently, exuding warmth and just the right amount of welcome to put him at ease. Two long couches faced each other, with a low table between them. Placed on either side of the fireplace were a pair of overstuffed leather chairs, each accompanied by a reading lamp on one side and an occasional table on the other.  
  
He decided to take a position nearest the fire, curling up at one end of a couch. His shoes kicked off, he pulled his legs under him, holding in every bit of warmth he could. For some reason, he hadn't been able to shake off this feeling of utter cold around his body and heart since the final battle.  
  
Breaking into the younger man's thoughts, Severus returned with a tray bearing several bottles and two crystal tumblers. "I trust you've made yourself comfortable. And for tonight, may I suggest that we dispense with the formal titles? If we are to drink together, you may call me Severus, Harry."  
  
"Er... if you like, S-Severus. Feels strange though."  
  
"It won't after a few of these." Grinning with wicked intent, the Potions Master began creating a cocktail for his young charge. "Don't bother asking about the contents. Just enjoy the effects."  
  
When both glasses were full, the wizards toasted their own ghosts, silently acknowledging the similarities of their personal grief. With every new toast, they commiserated with each other's losses, as well as feelings of guilt. Over the course of the next few hours, the reigning terror of Hogwarts dungeons and the Boy Who Lived got completely, utterly, understandably pissed.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Harry's eyes were closed tightly against a harsh light, burning into his brain and scouring his senses. Some torturous villain had filled his mouth with cotton swabs and strips of leather coated in rotten cabbage and used PE socks. He knew he was close to death, but he could hardly care less... so long as this miserable trip to the afterlife was over soon.  
  
Taking careful inventory (without opening his eyes), he figured out that he was 1) naked, 2) in a strange bed, and worryingly 3) not alone. The fourth conclusion bothered him the most. He could not remember the previous evening past his first toast with Severus.  
  
'Severus?! What the hell? No, that can't be right. When did I start thinking about him as a person? But if I was last in his rooms, and we were drinking, then... Oh shit! He's going to kill me if he thinks this was my idea. Not that it wouldn't have been, but... bloody hell.'  
  
"For the love of all you hold dear, Potter. Do stop yelling, please!" The normally silky voice of the Potions Master was harsh and crackling. "If you will remain perfectly still and silent for two minutes, I shall return with hangover potions."  
  
The movement of the bed as Snape rose almost made both men violently ill, but the gods were with them -- or at least their stomachs had more fortitude than their aching heads -- and within the allotted time, Severus pushed a cool vial of murky green liquid in Harry's hand.  
  
"Drink before talking. Or thinking. We both need clear heads for this one."  
  
Without opening his eyes, the younger wizard accepted the tonic. Not with absolute trust, but because even poison would have been more tolerable than this aching nausea. Harry swallowed the vile liquid, and swallowed again to keep it within his protesting stomach, finally croaking a whispered, "Agreed."  
  
Downing the foul concoction was a trick to their already abused systems, but once ingested, the worst of the pounding, screaming, throbbing pain subsided to a reasonable level.  
  
"Great, now I just feel like hell. Thanks, Sev." One jade eye peeked open, taking in the pale expanse of skin beside him.  
  
An eyebrow raised at the nickname. "Do you remember more about last night than I do, Mr. Potter?"  
  
"Er... I seem to recall getting rid of proper titles and all that "Mr. Potter, Professor sir" business, drinking a lot, talking a lot more... after that, it gets really blurry. Except..." the soft baritone voice trailed off, as scenes replayed through his mind. 'If those are real memories, they're better than most of my wet dreams.'  
  
Snagging the young man's glass, Severus took several careful sips. His throat finally reacting to the replenishment of liquids, Snape's silky smooth tones returned. "Yes? Please, enlighten me."  
  
"At some point, did we play strip poker?"  
  
"I don't believe that I've ever partaken of that Muggle game."  
  
"Yeah, you were pretty bad. But at least you've got a lot of layers of clothes. It helps balance things out, I guess," sniggering at the nebulous recollection.  
  
"Do you remember anything else?"  
  
"Umm.. not really, but considering... umm... some other things, I'd have to say that we became much better acquainted." Harry squirmed under the penetrating eyes of his professor, blushing from the tell-tale aches in his lower body.  
  
"Indeed. Would you care to share with me these... things?" As much as Severus wanted to know what his student recalled from the previous night, he was having quite a good time watching the young man sink into embarassment. Old habits died hard, if they ever succumbed to the grave.  
  
"Git. I'm talking about at least one spot on my body that usually isn't sore, even after getting drunk off my head."  
  
And that successfully shut the verbose professor's mouth. At least for the moment. Harry took the opportunity to snicker, then get out of bed for a glass of water. When he returned, the older wizard was still staring at the bed, as if waiting for serpents to strike from it.  
  
"Hey, I don't remember what all happened, but we could always try to jog the memories."  
  
"You can't be suggesting..."  
  
"Why not? It's pretty obvious that we already have, so why not at least have a sober memory of it?"  
  
"Mr. Potter, I am still your teacher... for the time being." All thoughts of replacing his mentor as headmaster could wait a little while longer. Albus wouldn't begrudge him such a short time off duty.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. You're my teacher, there's an ethics code, you're twenty years older, whatever. Do you want to or not? With everyone either mourning their losses, getting drunk, or combining the two, few people are likely to miss either of us till dinner at least."  
  
Severus took several deep breaths, allowing his mind to catalogue the current information. Obviously, he and Harry had slept together, in both senses of the word. He had encouraged a student in his care to get drunk. And then to have sex with said student. If he hadn't been sent to hell by now, this latest event would not hurt his shaky reputation too much.  
  
Two very different men. Two similar backgrounds of pain and guilt. If they could find some solace in each other, perhaps each might experience some relief, some respite from the bitterness eating them apart.  
  
"If I'm going hell anyways, I might as well enjoy the ride. Move over, Harry."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
Throughout the corridors of Hogwarts, numerous voices could be heard raised in songs of celebration, of Yule cheer, of rememberance. Severus and Harry stayed hidden within the dungeon chambers all morning and afternoon, privately expressing their bodies and minds' own necessary reaffirmations on life.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
End


End file.
